Things They Never Dreamed
by Alenan
Summary: Sylvie Peterson just wanted to find out what happened to her dad. She never expected to get involved with Torchwood or with Jack Harkness. But adventure is something she had always wanted, so how could she say no to something she'd always dreamed of?
1. Chapter 1

"Who was she?" The question startled Jack out of his memories. Unwittingly, his hand had reached out to stroke her cold cheek. He drew his hand back and gave his lover a confident smile marred by the pain he was sure was in his eyes.

"An old friend," he said simply. He wasn't sure Ianto wanted to know about his past with the blonde on the table.

Ianto gave him a hesitant smile before he pulled up a chair next to Jack's. "You loved her, didn't you?"

Nodding in response, he swallowed hard before he could speak. "It was a long time ago. Before I knew you." He reached for the hand of the man he loved and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

"There's always someone before me, just like there will be ones after me."

"There is no one like you, Ianto. No one," Jack interrupted.

Ianto scoffed and continued. "I know I'm special, but so was she."

Jack looked back at the young woman whose body lay on the icy slab. Her blonde hair lay limp around the pale, beautiful face. Still beautiful, even in death. He reached out to her again, but didn't touch her this time. His hand fell back inches from her body and reached for Ianto's hand again.

People might think that after a long time, the memories wouldn't hurt so much. That after centuries, the memories would simply fade away. But not for Jack Harkness. None of the past had dulled with time. Not even the love of so many people who had thought him worthy of their attention. And she was one of the greats.

Even being frozen hadn't diminished her spark in Jack's mind. He could still see her smile lighting up the room and her brown eyes flashing dangerously when someone pissed her off. He could feel her hands tentatively touching his face as if he might disappear under them before their last kiss.

Sometimes, when his team had gone home for the day, Jack would sit her in front of what was essentially a graveyard for deceased Torchwood members and reminisce with the people he had failed to save. Each one was a reminder of the mortality he once possessed and never would again.

"She was very special," Jack said with an affection smile in her direction. She had proven to him time and time again how unlike most humans she was. She was probably one of the best Torchwood members he had seen. And she had been so young, only 23 when she had died. She had deserved so much more than dying like that, the whole team had. But Jack couldn't change that. He could only be thankful he had been able to say goodbye.

Ianto gave a worried look at the obviously painful emotions crossing Jack's face as he remembered her end. "Do you want to talk about it? You can tell me about her," he offered, "if you want to, at least."

It's a long story, Ianto," Jack replied with watery eyes. "And there's not a happy ending."

"That's all right. We've got our own happy ending with each other and I've got plenty of time." He crossed one leg over the other and settled in for a long story.

Jack sighed, but smiled at his boyfriend's actions. "Her name was Sylvie Peterson…"


	2. Chapter 2

Sylvie Peterson pulled her jacket around her tighter in an attempt to stave off the cold rain from soaking her shirt. She knew it had been a bad idea to wear a white shirt, but she had ignore the weather reports like usual and done it anyways. Her hair was already plastered against her scalp making her look like a very blonde, very drowned rat. But still, she continued walking past the alley over and over again, searching for anything that would make her understand why her father was dead.

Since his untimely death, Sylvie had scoured the streets and pestered the cops working his case for any new information that would lead to who had dismembered him. It had come to a complete shock for the 21 year old, who had only ever had her father in her life and wasn't entirely sure what to do since then. It had only been a few months, but she had already quit her job at a local boutique and alienated most of her friends in her never ending quest. None of her curiosity had been satisfied and she was no closer to the answers she knew she had to have. Still, she would continue looking as long as she had to until she was certain that there was nothing she didn't know.

The streets grew less crowded as the hours passed and darkness fell upon Cardiff. Eventually, the people in the area seemed to transform from families or businessmen to the varied nightlife. Sylvie was certain there was nothing more going to happen tonight, so she decided to go to a pub close to her apartment. She had a running tab at that particular one because it had become a favourite place of hers as of late.

"Oy, Jeff," she called with a smile towards the bartender as she walked inside, shaking the water from her hair. Sitting down at her usual stool, she leaned on the counter to talk with the man that had been her father's friend for many years.

"Any news on the case?" Jeff had been Sylvie's only supporter recently. He wanted to know what happened to his friend as much as she wanted to know what happened to her father.

"Not tonight, but I have a feeling something's going to turn up soon," she replied as she took a gulp of the beer he had already placed in front of her. She said something similar almost every night to him, and each night, she tried to make herself believe it.

"Of course, love. I'm sure it will." As he turned to give attention to his other customers, Sylvie as again left alone with only her thoughts for company. It was becoming a regular thing to her. Before all of this, she had been much more lively and outgoing; this whole thing had made her grow up. It would have been a good thing for the young woman had it not been under those particular circumstances.

Her drink was nearly gone by the time she realized how late it was getting. This was the time when all of the creepers came out to prey on the weak. She was glad she wasn't one of them. Her clothes were nearly dry and it seemed that the sky had ceased its downpour for the time being. Sylvie was just pulling her jacket back on when she heard the loud laughs behind her from a group that was entering the pub. Though she couldn't hear the exact words they were saying, it appeared that it was something interesting.

Unfortunately for her, human ears weren't meant to be able to hear from that far away so Sylvie decided to curb her curiosity for the night and just head home. It was the smart thing for the blonde to do. But, Sylvie had very rarely been accused of being smart. In fact, she had always been more of the act first, think later types which had led her into a lot of trouble in her life. She tried to signal Jeff for another drink, but, in the end, reached over the counter herself while he was busy with paying customers. She wasn't even sure what interested her in the group of five people. They seemed like the typical people to be out in Cardiff at this time and nothing really seemed all that important about them, but her father had told her to always trust her gut and this time was telling her to stay in her seat for at least a little while longer.

Sylvie was just beginning to grow bored with attempting to overhear conversations around her when she heard it. "Daniel Peterson, known to his friends as Danny was killed close to this pub by the same creature that struck last night." One of the men spoke that before he was hushed by the only woman with the group who then looked around anxiously. Sylvie looked down so the group wouldn't catch her eavesdropping. The redheaded woman muttered a quick "Let's go," before pushing herself from her seat and leaving the pub, silently followed by three of the men. One of the men, the best-looking in her opinion, stayed behind a moment to pay the bill. Sylvie tried to keep her gaze down so she wouldn't look like the gawking teenager she felt like. Her eyes didn't stay down for long and she glanced up to see him watching her with a cocky smile.

"See anything you like?" he asked with a wink. Before Sylvie could scoff or wonder at the revelation that he was American, he was out the door, his long, black trench coat blowing around him.

Scrambling to follow him, she didn't even bother grabbing her jacket before she rushed out where the rain had just coming down again in sheets. "Wait," she called, as she saw him disappear down the alley by the pub. Her clothing was already beginning to stick to her body again. She dashed down the alley after the strange man. "Please." She knew how desperate she must sound.

He turned, still smiling. "Well, I'd say I never knew I had this effect on women, but that'd be a lie."

"Why are you looking into Danny Peterson's death? Are you police?"

He didn't pause before answering, gesturing to his attire. "Do I look like the police?"

"No," she hesitated, but why else would you be interested."

"I'm not the police. I just have a special interest, you could say, in this case."

"Why?" she demanded.

The man simply sighed. "Go home, Sylvie Peterson. I'm sure we'll run into each other again. Very soon in fact." He turned and left the blonde stunned before she could say another word. He left Sylvie wondering who he was and why he wanted to know about her dad. But mainly he left her wondering how in the hell he knew her name.


End file.
